


A Process of Recovery

by LoveandScience



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Eating Disorders, M/M, Recovery, Relapse, shameless self-projection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21554284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveandScience/pseuds/LoveandScience
Summary: Shameless self-projection.Just a bit about dealing with a relapse and trying to stay on track.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 72





	A Process of Recovery

Recovery isn’t a straight line.

Crowley repeated this to himself as he walked into the grocery store with Aziraphale. They were supposed to be in domestic bliss, now. No one after them, finally having admitted their feelings. Crowley had worked hard in the last years to recover from the trauma of, well, the last 6000 years. The Fall. The torture. The anxiety and depression. The fact that he couldn’t make himself eat and take care of his corporeal form. But he and Aziraphale were trying to stay off the radar, and he couldn’t just perform frivolous miracles like sustenance taking care of his body without any of the work of ingesting things.

The thought of eating had started to become more repugnant again, lately. The stress and anxiety overwhelming him in the last few months to the point where something in him up and decided it was too much-- that it wouldn’t be manageable unless it was all about food.

He’d done a lot of work on himself, and he knew this, recognized the relapse for what it was and the trigger behind it. It still knocked him on his ass, metaphorically speaking. He tried desperately to not restrict, forcing himself to eat when every fiber of his being told him that feeling gnawing hunger meant success, and that fullness meant guilt and failure and being a faker.

But all he could manage was to eat when he started feeling dizzy, so that he’d still feel hungry but not pass out.

Crowley broke off from Aziraphale to find some foods that might be easier to manage eating this week, and started wandering the store. He stared at the cheeses, the fatty dairy products, and continued staring as he walked by, unable to take any off the shelf. He swallowed, his stomach growling, and clenched and unclenched his fists.

The snack aisle wasn’t much better, but he grabbed a bag of dried fruit and stared with longing and anger at the rows of chips.

He breathed in and out, in and out, trying to calm himself down.

Crowley caught sight of Aziraphale at the meats, and dropped the meager bag in the cart. _Good job_ , his eating disorder said. _You can’t survive on a fucking bag of dried fruit_ , a more rational part of his mind protested. Aziraphale gave him a supportive smile and Crowley drew a small strength from it, departing again.

Cookie mix. Brownie mix. Bags of sugar and chocolates and sweet things Aziraphale would love. Crowley found himself staring again, wanting to take them and not wanting to be near them. He found a jar of unsweetened applesauce and loaded his arms up with soups, then returned to put them in the cart.

He walked through aisles of frozen foods, eyeing mozzarella sticks and desserts and flavorful dishes. He forced himself to take frozen vegetables and small frozen meals, forced himself to stop by the bread aisle and grab a loaf. Walked longingly by the deli and the bakery, staring at the food and relishing the grumble of hunger, feeling strong and weak at the same time.

Aziraphale took his hand when he returned, having loaded the cart with his own items. “Ready to go, my dear?”

Crowley nodded and let his hand go, but walked closely next to him.

He had more real strength, the next day.  Ate a real breakfast when he woke up. Determined to stop feeling so comfortable with the hunger, ate snacks at the first sign of it. Ate dinner with Aziraphale. Felt loved and deserving and worthy.

And only a little guilt, that maybe he wasn’t  _really_ sick, that he had worried Aziraphale for nothing.

He would get through this relapse. He would. He had the internal tools and the support, and he could do this.


End file.
